


House Arrest

by Asynca



Series: Ready, Set, Go! - Speed Prompts [18]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7720633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asynca/pseuds/Asynca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While speculating about the ankle bracelet Tracer has in her Rio Track & Field Outfit, we wondered if it might be a house arrest bracelet. This is a drabble about how she might have got it. Speed prompt, 30 minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	House Arrest

 

Widowmaker had been observing scrunched up postal envelopes slowly accumulating in their kitchen bin. At first she’d ignored them - honestly, she didn’t care what Lena was up to anymore - but after the bin started to overflow, she decided to investigate while she was waiting for the tea kettle to boil.  

When she lifted an envelope out of the bin, it was empty. There was a central London address printed on the top left-hand corner, however, but she didn’t care enough to bother googling what was there. Shrugging, she tossed the crumpled envelope back in the bin and went to finish making her coffee.

 

-

The following week, when she answered the door—in her lingerie because she wasn’t going to get dressed for anyone who _insisted_ on knocking on their door at 8am on a Saturday morning—it was to a sheriff in full uniform.

He gulped when he saw her, and quickly looked away from all that skin. "Lena Oxton?”

Widowmaker was unmoved. “Do I look like a ‘Lena Oxton’ to you?” she asked in a heavy French accent, and then shut the door in his face. 

The actual Lena Oxton peeked around the bend in the hallway, laughing nervously. “Is he gone?”

“Yes,” Widowmaker said as she walked past Lena. “But if he comes again, I will drag you out to him by the scruff of your little neck.”

“Noted,” Lena told her with a pained expression, and then looked very worried for the rest of the evening.

-

It was only when the _police_ showed up at their doorstep that Widowmaker cared at all about what was going on. She wasn’t interested in moving _again_ , and given what she did for a living she didn’t like police hovering around. “What do you want with Lena?” she asked, probably sounding quite annoyed. “What has she done this time?”

The police looked at each other. “Well,” one of the officers said, “we can’t actually tell you that. We need to speak with Lena Oxton herself. Is she in?” He looked like he was angling for an invitation inside.

He wasn’t going to get it from her. “No,” she said, “I don’t know where she is.” She then closed the door on them, walked straight to the kitchen bin and took out one of those envelopes, running her eyes over the address in the corner and committing it to memory.

Then, she grabbed her car keys and headed out the front door.

-

Number 1 Queen Victoria Street was an enormous stately building in the centre of London with absolutely no parking anywhere near it. In the end, Widowmaker got sick of trying to navigate those _stupid_ London roads and gave her car to valet at a nearby hotel.

She needed to go through security to get inside the building (and they _insisted_ on making her remove all her concealed weapons), and so by the time she arrived at the Registrar, she was ready to  _murder_ the next person who stood in her way.

“Name?” the Registrar asked boredly.

“Lena Oxton,” Widowmaker said with a straight face.

The Registrar looked sceptical, but Widowmaker raised her eyebrows in challenge and she didn’t push it. “Okay, let me see what you— _oh_.” She frowned, and glanced up nervously. “Oh. Um. Let me just grab someone.”

“Make it quick,” Widowmaker called after her, adding to herself in French, “I don’t have all day to spend on this _nonsense_.”

She was seated on the bench nearby and tabbing through her emails when two uniformed Court Marshalls approached her. “Lena Oxton?” one of them said as they arrived at her bench.

She looked up. “Yes?”

Suddenly, they were lifting her off the bench by her arms. “You’re under arrest for unpaid traffic warrants.”


End file.
